


In-Party Dialogue

by en passant (corinthian)



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinthian/pseuds/en%20passant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of scenes that could have (maybe) happened between the Servants in my parties...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In-Party Dialogue

**Author's Note:**

> "I hate dragons. But they taste good."  
> — Beowulf

Siegfried sees this first: the newest Servant his Master Summoned on the battlefield, twin swords tossed aside, fists turning red with the blood of his enemy. What used to be his enemy, rather. And at the end of it — the punches that tore flesh from bone, skin from flesh — Beowulf, the Berserker smiles.

It's one of the most serene expressions Siegfried has ever seen in his life.

If he is honest with himself, and ever since his death Siegfried has made promises to be honest with himself, it is an unsettling sight. But their Master runs right up to Beowulf and offers hand up high. When the Berserker turns his head to the side, lets out a gruff _Hah!?_ she explains, pantomimes the action. She doesn't even seem to care that his bloody palm smacks into hers when they highfive.

They're comrades in arms now, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter.

* * *

Beowulf is _pretty sure_ that the Servant known as Siegfried hadn't always had wings and horns and a tail. He is _almost_ entirely certain that when they were introduced Siegfried was just a regular guy with armor and a sword and an awfully deep v-neck.

He doesn't wait around, he's not that kind of person. Instead he pushes off the wall he'd been leaning on, walks right on over to Siegfried and taps on his armor with the back of his hand.

"Oy, you."

"Yes?" Siegfried inquires mildly. Beowulf's good at reading people, sort of. He has a casual instinct about how people will behave. It's like how all fights have a rhythm. That kind of thing.

"You've got horns." Beowulf points out.

". . . I do." Siegfried's response is neutral, his guard is up a little.

Beowulf is a natural fighter, he sees that. If this was a fistfight this is the moment that he would have lashed out. His fist would have connected perfectly with Siegfried's chin.

"And wings, and a tail. It's like you're a dragon or something." Beowulf grins.

"It's exactly as you say." The opportunity is gone and Siegfried's defense is all the way up. Beowulf knocks on Siegfried's armor again, twice.

"Coincidentally, if you knew, I'm a dragonslayer." It's said with the swagger of a man who wants to fight. "You're looking quite a lot like a dragon."

Siegfried replies, in a way that leaves Beowulf so astounded he can't react until long after Siegfried has left: "I am a knight who fights for his own justice."

In the wake of Siegfried, Beowulf laughs and laughs.

* * *

Siegfried is invulnerable. Beowulf realizes it as soon as his fist strikes Siegfried's chest. Despite Siegfried's chest being exposed, it should be vulnerable, there's no satisfying feel of bones bending and breaking, or muscle being compressed by force, of skin bursting or of blood underneath his knuckles.

A challenge. 

(The squabble is over something minute, but because they are heroes and they both live for their own ideal and nothing more and nothing less, it is inevitable that blows will be exchanged. That is the way of many heroes, to conquer and impress upon the world with force.)

Siegfried's own return blow is strong. It's not as strong as Beowulf would have expected from a man as tall and broad as Siegfried. He can't help but to taunt him.

"Is that all? I've had harder hits from the old, invalid and _dead!_ "

It doesn't rile Siegfried up at all. But his next blow is harder, his fist finds Beowulf's gut. Beowulf raises his elbow, driving it into Seigfried's neck. They continue to exchange blows, neither paying heed to defense and only striking with their hands or arms.

In a way, it is its own kind of honorable fight. There is nothing at stake.

Beowulf enjoys it. He laughs, yells, makes a show with his fists and his voice. His blows are wild and strong and if Siegfried were not a Servant he would have died from even a single punch. At the same token, had Beowulf not been a Servant as well, Siegfried's blows would have broken his bones.

It's only after Beowulf's uppercut clacks Siegfried's teeth together and a small bit of blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth that Siegfried's expression — taciturn, slightly hesitate, guarded — changes. It's the very small hint of a smile as well.

A warrior — soldier, knight, hero — who can trade blows with another equally gains something small and wonderful. A battle, even a small scuffle, that wakes up the soul, is worth it.

Beowulf knows it too. They both give it their all in the next hit, knuckles to cheeks in a cross punch that leaves them both staggering. Beowulf bridges the gap between the first, reaching up — Siegfried is so tall — and dropping his arm around Siegfried's shoulders. He leans in close, his teeth just barely grazing Siegfried's neck and he says, "I hate dragons, you're not bad."

Then, "There! That's it!" He shouts. "You got it?" A roar of fond laughter. He bumps his forehead against Siegfried's. It's an affectionate gesture.

"Do you hate dragons?" Siegfried asks.

"Aren't you a dragonslayer?" Beowulf counters.

"By a curse and my own actions, I am both."

"Doesn't matter! What I said still stands, got it?"

Magnanimous, a little wild, kinder than he appears. Siegfried has to wonder if there's a knight's soul in this Berserker, too. (Of course, later he'll think that there can't be. It would do them both a disservice to consider the idea.)

"I dislike pointless fighting, but I understand meeting in the middle." Siegfried says.

Beowulf laughs, looks a little sheepish. "It's kind of lame, to enjoy that kind of thing, but it's also who I am! In our next down time, let's both find better hobbies, huh!"

* * *

Beowulf is a tactile guy. It works well for his Master, a girl who loves high fives and also sitting on his shoulders, leaning into him right before a battle. (She, also, is a tactile person and one has to wonder if being acquainted with so many spirits has only made her crave touch more.)

It unsettles Siegfried, the first time Beowulf comes upon him and slaps him on the back, jovial and ready for a fight. But there's no malice in the action, only the gruff kind of companionship that was a constant with Beowulf.

Even still, Siegfried's wings had flared out in alarm, his hand automatically moving for his sword.

"My bad, it's just me. Don't worry, all my dragon killing is up ahead."

"You startled me, but I see. Our goal is up ahead."

"Got to protect the Master, right?" Beowulf grins, jerks his shoulder back to their Master. Then he bumps shoulders with Siegfried, draws out his two swords. At Siegfried's nod in agreement he hollers back to their Master, "Did you hear that? Nothing to fear, we'll beat the shit out of whatever comes."

"A fight against evil," Siegfried comments, "That's what I carry my sword for."

"Heh, you make it sound so weighty. But it's true, I'm counting on you and you on me."

"Ah, let's go." Siegfried's answer is simple.

Nothing more needs to be said. The two strike quite the imposing pair, being the vanguard and protectors for their Master. It is quite all the more terrifying to think of them on the same side, fighting the same enemy, than ripping each other apart, after all.


End file.
